


Talk to Me

by through_shadows_falling



Series: Supernatural Ficlets [35]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accents, Businessman Dean, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Prosthesis, Translator Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandover Bridge and Iron, Inc. was a huge company that had partners all over the globe. Their biggest corporate ally was in Russia, and the branch there had sent a translator to help facilitate their online meeting. </p>
<p>Only, their translator was more than a human being. </p>
<p>He was a male model with a face carved by gods. </p>
<p>Dean was so going to get fired over this, wasn't he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk to Me

There was a light tapping on his propped door. “Dean?”

Dean looked up from his salad as his boss, Zachariah, hovered outside his office. He swallowed a bite and set the container and fork on his desk. “Yeah, come in.”

Zachariah stepped inside and straightened his already impeccable suit. He wore his usual smarmy grin, though Dean mentally smirked at the fluorescent light that reflected off his bald head.

“What can I help you with?” Dean asked, as politely as he could. 

“Nothing really. Just reminding you of the meeting at 2. We’re teleconferencing, so we can’t be late. Oh, and Naomi wants you to look after the translator they sent. Make sure his accommodations are set up, maybe give him a nice tour of the city. Think you can handle that?”

Internally, Dean bristled. He was the  _director_  of sales and marketing. His duties did  _not_ include him babysitting a grown man fully capable of speaking the English language. 

But, damn, Naomi  _had_  sent him an email requesting as much, saying that it took priority. He couldn’t exactly get out of it, even if he had other more important things he could be doing.

Great. How exactly was Dean going to play host?

And what was Zachariah thinking, that he needed to remind Dean of the meeting? Dean had programmed it into all of his devices and been preparing for  _weeks_. Who did he think he was?

Obviously Zachariah had only wanted an excuse to stop in and gloat, as per usual. 

Dean plastered on a smile. “I think I’ll be just fine. Thanks for the reminder. I’ll see you at 2.”

Oh, he would. 

And he would be _so_  ready.

Or at least, he was, until the translator arrived. 

Sandover Bridge and Iron, Inc. was a huge company that had partners all over the globe. Their biggest corporate ally was in Russia, and the branch there had sent a translator to help facilitate their online meeting. 

Only, their translator was more than a human being. 

He was a male model with a face carved by  _gods_. 

And maybe it was that Dean had been overworking himself lately, and he hadn’t had any action in a while (read: a  _long_  while), but seriously. The guy was drop-dead  _gorgeous_. 

High cheekbones, tousled brown hair, stunning baby blues. Though he looked a bit haggard, and there were bags under his eyes - probably a result from jet-lag - Dean couldn’t help but stare. Even when the guy awkwardly sat, as if his legs were stiff, he was still ungodly handsome.

_Focus, Winchester,_  Dean told himself, and he took his seat around the oval conference table with his other associates. They all rolled their chairs to face the far wall, where a large flat-screen TV broadcast the call from Russia. 

The faces of their partners popped onto the screen, and they all made their introductions. Dean just barely caught the translator’s name - Dmitri Krushnic. He had a lilting accent, and sat up straight when Dean’s boss, Naomi, formally began the meeting. 

Dean had to admit, this Dmitri guy was good. There was bound to be a lag, but he kept it to a minimum, and was able to parse through both English and Russian with cool precision.

Dean couldn’t help it. He was mesmerized by the guy’s mouth, the shape of his lips, the way he pronounced each syllable with his deep, rumbling voice. 

Dean was so engrossed, so transfixed, that he nearly missed when Naomi asked him a question. He quickly coughed to regain his composure, and answered with poise. He congratulated himself on a smooth recovery until he caught a pair of blue eyes regarding him with amusement, followed by the uptick of Dmitri’s lips.

Dean cursed himself. Had he been that obvious? His face flamed, and he dropped his gaze. God, so much for being professional. Some director he was.

Dmitri cleared his throat and resumed as if nothing had happened.

Had Dean imagined the quirk of his mouth, the glint in his eyes? Maybe he was just seeing things, or worse, projecting some of his sexual frustrations on the guy.

So sue him, maybe Dean had a thing for accents. A  _small_  thing. Barely anything worth mentioning. 

And a thing for hot guys.

Ugh. He resisted the urge to stab himself with his pen. 

Dean wished the whole thing would be over, but even then, he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape that easily. He still had to take care of the guy after the meeting.

Which happened about 45 minutes later, when Naomi wrapped it up and they all stood to return to their own work.  

Dean tucked his folders under his arm, and inhaled a bracing breath. He approached Dmitri with what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Hi. I’m Dean.” 

He stuck out a hand, and Dmitri shook it. “Dmitri. Though my friends call me Cas.”

“Cas?” Did this guy actually consider them friends already?

“It’s a long story.”

“Oh. Um, mind if we go drop off stuff in my office before we head out?”

“Not at all. Please.” Cas ushered him along, and Dean led them to his office, which was nothing special. Cas paused to gaze around while Dean puttered about his desk, unsure where to go from here. The silence thickened, but eased when Dean smiled at a picture Cas took abrupt interest in.

“That’s my family. Mom, Dad, sister,” Dean said with pride.

“They look like lovely people.”  

“Yeah, they’re pretty great. Haven’t seen them in a while, actually.”

“You must be working very hard.”

Dean blushed. “Oh, you know. Just doing my best.” Ugh. Why was he acting like a schoolgirl with a crush?

A gurgling sound filled the air, and Cas clutched at his stomach with a sheepish expression. “Apologies,” he said. 

“When’s the last time you ate? We should get some food. What do you like?”

They gathered their things, including light jackets, as it was early autumn. Their walk down the corridor, then the elevator, and then the lobby, was filled with idle chatter about available food in the area. Cas didn’t have any preferences, though he said he’d like to try an American cheeseburger.

“Perfect. I know a great place,” Dean said, as he held open the door. 

They spilled onto the sidewalk, and after a few minutes, Dean noticed that Cas was moving rather awkwardly.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Just my leg,” Cas said with a wince. They stopped near a bench, and Cas sank onto it with apparent gratitude. He bent to pull up part of his pant leg, and revealed that, instead of flesh and bone, he wore a prosthetic. 

“Oh. Geez. Sorry, I had no idea….” Dean started. Why hadn’t anyone warned him? He was being a terrible host. Shit. Naomi better not fire him over this. 

“It’s fine,” Cas said, waving away Dean’s concern. “It just aches a bit today.” 

They were silent, and Dean tried not to stare or ask anything rude, but Cas called him out.

“Do you want to know how it happened?”

“Um. You really don’t need to tell me.”

“It was a cold winter,” Cas said, his tone serious. “I got frostbite. They had to cut the whole thing off.” He made a sawing motion with his hands, accompanied by a rasping sound, and Dean gulped.

“Oh. God.”

Cas squinted at him, and then broke into a toothy grin. “That was a joke.”

Dean laughed weakly, a little off-balance. “Oh, ha! You got me. So that’s not a prosthetic at all, huh?”

Cas’s smile vanished. “No, it is. I have no left leg.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize–”

Cas grinned again, clearly enjoying Dean’s discomfort. “I was born this way. Don’t worry about it.”

Dean groaned. “I’m sorry. I’m really screwing this up, aren’t I?”

“Not at all, Mr. Winchester.”

The way he said Dean’s name had to be against the law. Dean actually  _shivered_  at Cas’s sensuous tone. What was this guy  _doing_  to him?

“Should we…go eat, then?” Dean said hurriedly. 

Cas smirked and heaved himself to his feet. “Of course. I look forward to dining with you.” He winked pointedly, and Dean gulped. 

Just what was he getting himself into? At least no one was here to monitor how badly he was fucking this up. 

The restaurant was a hit, and Dean was comforted by the familiar atmosphere. He’d been a bit unsure if The Roadhouse was the proper place to bring a distinguished company guest, but Cas’s eyes had lit up once inside, and Dean knew it was the right decision. 

They talked about all sorts of things as they ordered, and then waited for their food. The conversation was shallow, but Dean found himself smiling and enjoying Cas’s offbeat company. The guy had an odd sense of humor, but it was strangely endearing. 

And it helped that he had that accent, on top of everything. God, Dean just wanted to curl up in some of his words. He tried to hide his attraction to the way Cas spoke, but Cas appeared quick on the uptake, and started repeating words just for the heck of it. 

“Do you like my accent, Dean?” he finally asked, after they’d eaten their meals and the waitress came to collect their plates.

Dean swallowed. “Um. Yeah, I do. Not heard anything like it before.”

“Hmm. And I’ve not met anyone like you before. You’re quite beautiful.”

Dean blinked. He must’ve heard wrong. Or maybe Cas messed up the translation in his head. That couldn’t be right.

But then Cas was leaning forward. “I apologize if I’m not reading this right. But…would you like to inspect my hotel room with me, after this? Make sure it is acceptable?”

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you…?”

“Well, this is my last night in America. We should celebrate, no?” He did that ridiculous wink again, and added in a whisper, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Dean was screwed. “I. Uh. Yeah, but. I should probably go home and change first.”

“No!” Cas coughed after his outburst and sat back in his seat. “I mean, no. I like a man in suspenders.”

Dean glanced down at himself. Oh, right. He was wearing his suspenders today. Cas’s eyes were dark as they focused on them, and as he licked his lips, warmth pooled in Dean’s gut. 

He was so totally going to get fired for this, wasn’t he?

“I’ll come with you, but on one condition.” 

Cas smiled. “And what is that?”

“You have to speak Russian the whole time.”

Cas grinned, slowly, like a Cheshire cat. “ _Da_ ,” he said.

Dean shuddered with pleasure. What a way to go out. 

He just hoped Zachariah wouldn’t be the one to get his office.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Friends episode! Also, I must say that I love Cas's humor in this. It was very fun to write!


End file.
